


Learned Behaviors and Biases

by Duck_Life



Category: X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Friendship/Love, Healing, Holding Hands, Homophobic Slur (from a stranger), Internalized Homophobia, Love, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 04:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Teaching Shatterstar about social stigmas and standards is Julio's job as his friend. Sometimes the job is hard. Sometimes he has to teach 'Star some really messed up stuff.





	Learned Behaviors and Biases

“Friends don't hold hands,” Rictor explains, yanking his hand away from Shatterstar even though it kills him to see the look at ’Star's face. “Look, I'm just trying to give you an education, right?”

“But I don't understand,” Shatterstar says, looking down at his own hand like there’s something dirty on it. “Theresa and Tabitha hold hands frequently.”

“That's different. They're girls.”

“That makes a difference?” 

Ric grabs a box of Tabitha’s favorite cereal and chucks it into the shopping cart that Shatterstar is pushing. “That makes a  _ huge _ difference, ’Star. There’s just… there’s stuff that girls can do with their friends that guys can’t do with guys.” He pauses, thinks about it. “And there’s stuff that girls and guys can do  _ together _ that guys can’t do with other guys.”

“On my homeworld, all forms of affection and romance were discouraged,” Shatterstar reminisces. Rictor puts a box of NutriGrain bars in the shopping cart for Jimmy. “Here, it is different… but similar. Some versions of affection are permitted, but others are not.”

“Uh… yeah,” Rictor says, directing Shatterstar to the frozen foods aisle. “That’s basically it. If a guy is holding hands with other guys, or like…  _ kissing them _ ,” he says, dropping his voice so no one else in Publix can hear them, “everyone thinks he’s less of a man.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, you an’ me, both,” Rictor mumbles, stocking up on chicken pot pies and Hot Pockets. “It’s all just stupid social stuff, right? But… but it’s my job to teach you this stuff so you don’t go and do something stupid. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. What’s next on the list?”

“Potato chips for Roberto,” Shatterstar reads off. As he steers the shopping cart in the direction Rictor points, he asks, “If you and I are in a situation where we may be separated in a crowd, is it acceptable for me to hold your hand? For logistic purposes?”

Rictor looks back at him and grins, taking in all 6’3” of him. “Dude, I’m not gonna lose you in a crowd.” 

* * *

Teaching Shatterstar basic social skills isn’t quite an impossible feat, but it does take work. Rictor sits next to him on the couch watching the channels change. Three seconds of MTV, flip. Three seconds of  _ Family Feud _ , flip. Three seconds of  _ Cheers _ , flip. Occasionally, Shatterstar poses questions to him about the sitcoms or dramas airing.

“I don’t understand,” he declares during one episode of  _ Friends _ . It’s taken time, but he’s become shockingly comfortable admitting to Rictor when he feels confused. Around everyone else, he’s constantly trying to exude that air of confidence and self-assuredness, even when he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. But this is Rictor’s area of expertise. Rictor is someone who won’t laugh at him when he needs clarification. “Why did the ice dancer marry Phoebe?”

“He was gonna be deported,” Ric explains. “’Cause he’s Canadian. He’s an immigrant, and in America when you’re an immigrant, one way to get citizenship is to marry an American.”

“Is… that what you did?”

Rictor snorts. “What? No, I’m not  _ married _ . I took a test, man. That’s how I got my citizenship.”

“Did Theresa do that?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Rictor says. “I mean, I don’t know. You should ask  _ her _ .”

“Am I an immigrant?” Shatterstar asks.

Ric opens his mouth to say no, but then he pauses. “Uh… I’m not really sure? I don’t know if you’d count as one.” 

“I could take a test to become an American citizen,” ’Star muses. “Or I could marry someone who is already a citizen.” His eyes are a little too intense as he stares across the couch at Julio. 

“Yeah, sure,” Ric says, shifting. “Tell Tabs you wanna marry her for a green card. I bet she’d say yes.” 

“Hm.” The channels cycle through again, reruns and game shows and classic movies. Eventually, it comes back around to  _ Friends _ . And Shatterstar has more questions. “If Phoebe’s husband needed to marry an American citizen, why did he not marry another man? He has a preference for men.”

“Be… cause,” Rictor sighs, kneading the area between his eyebrows, reminding himself that Shatterstar is genuinely curious and not trying to be a pain. “He can’t. It’s illegal for men to marry other men.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Rictor says. Most of the time, he’s patient with Shatterstar. But when it’s… stuff like this, being patient is hard. “It’s not normal. It makes people uncomfortable.” 

“But why?” 

“It just is,” Rictor says. “I know you hate that answer. You know I hate to give it. But there’s just… some things that just  _ are _ , and you can’t explain them. Like why the sky is blue.”

“The sky is blue because molecules in the air scatter blue light waves more than red light waves.”

“Yeah, okay, Smarty Pants,” Rictor grumbles, sinking into the couch. “Are you done? Can we just watch TV?”

“Alright.”

Despite all the channel flipping, Rictor still manages to see the end of that  _ Friends _ episode. Turns out the ice dancer wasn’t gay after all. 

Maybe there’s hope for him.

* * *

Julio Richter is having a bad day.

It starts with a phone call from his mother, letting him know about another cousin that has been arrested. It becomes clear about two minutes into the call that she really just wants to know more about his life, what he’s been up to, and a lot of him aches to tell her. He wants to tell her about how he and his friends have been fighting for the good of mutantkind, but Mamá doesn’t even know that’s what he does. He’s not ready to tell her.

There’s a lot he’s not ready to tell her. 

“So… do you have a girlfriend yet?” she asks, and he can hear her smiling on the other end of the line. It makes his stomach roil. 

“Not yet,  _ Mamá _ ,” he says, trying to match her lighthearted tone. “Too busy with school, classes, you know.” 

“It will happen,” she promises him, and a bitter, shriveled part of him wants her to be right. “I bet you meet a girl in one of those classes.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, trying to picture it. “I mean, there’s a couple of girls I talk to.” That’s not a lie, in the literal sense of the words. He knows some girls. He talks to them. 

“See? You’ll have a pretty girlfriend before you know it,” she says. 

“Fingers crossed!” Ric says. His hand is sweating so much that the phone feels slippery. 

Training with Cable just makes his day worse. Rictor manages to get out of afternoon training by offering to go into town with Jimmy for supplies. Unfortunately, Jimmy’s so into the song on the radio at one point that he makes a less-than-ideal turn onto a busy street, cutting off the guys in the Mazda behind them. 

The pissed-off driver honks his horn, which is annoying, sure, but it’s the shout of, “ _ Fuckin’ faggots _ ” through the open window that gets Julio’s pulse hammering in his ears.

“Up yours!” Jimmy yells back, flipping the guy off and then continuing along their route like nothing’s happened. Meanwhile, Julio is spiraling, sinking downward in the seat and trying to ignore the pounding, resounding chorus beating against his skull,  _ They know, they know, they know, they know, they know _ . 

They’re strangers, in traffic. They don’t know a fucking thing. But he’s still losing his goddamn mind over it. 

As soon as they get back to camp, Julio makes a beeline to Terry’s room and asks her where she keeps her beer. Between the two of them, they make it through the first six-pack and most of the second before Terry wanders off, either to hit on Sam or fall asleep on the couch, leaving Rictor drunk, pissed-off and alone. 

He goes outside to lie on the ground. 

A lot of people think the ground is still, lifeless. Out here, there aren’t many plants, just the occasional cactus or scrubbly patch of weeds. It’s all just dust and dirt and rock. But it’s not lifeless, not by a longshot. 

Beneath him, the earth shifts and moves and rumbles like the growling of an engine. She embraces him the way his stepmother did, when he was young. He can feel her moving— and sure, maybe that’s partly the spinning sensation from all the beer he drank. But it’s mostly the ground. 

Ric doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until he hears somebody approaching him. “Whozzat?” he mumbles, cracking open an eyelid. 

Shatterstar’s face swims above him, pale in the moonlight. “Hello, Julio.”

“Oh, hey,” Ric says, shutting his eyes again. “How goes it?”

“Tabitha sent me to check on you.”

Rictor smiles, his dry lips cracking. “I have such a good nanny.”

He feels Shatterstar stretch out and lie down beside him. If it were daytime, they’d probably have turkey vultures circling up around them. “I didn’t see you very much today.”

“Maybe that’s why my day was so shitty.”

“Tell me about it.” 

It takes Ric a second to remember that Shatterstar means that literally.  _ Tell me about it _ . “Well,” he says, “I got a phone call from my mom.”

“Yes?”

“She kind of… made me feel terrible,” Julio sighs. “She didn’t mean it. Obviously. She doesn’t… it was just hard, hearing from her.”

“Hm,” Shatterstar says. “Rictor… what is that like? To have a mother?”

“ _ Dios _ ,” Ric says, “you can’t stay stuff like that to me, ’cause then it makes me feel like an ungrateful shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… fine,” Rictor says. “Just. I dunno. Having a mother is like… it’s like there’s one person who can make you feel safe and loved and successful, and there’s another person who can make you feel like the biggest fuckup in the history of the planet. Except she’s the same person. And she’s an amazing cook. You understand?”

“... No.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know. I’m drunk.” The hot wind ghosts over Rictor’s skin and swooping his hair back out of his face. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful. I ran drills with Cable, and then I did some exercises on my own,” Shatterstar says. “I… missed you.” 

Rictor pretends the hot fluttery thing in his stomach is just a result of alcohol. “Aw, you coulda come with me an’ Jimmy.”

“I did not want to be an… extra tire.”

“Third wheel,” Ric laughs. “And, dude, that’s only when it’s a couple. Like if I’m with a girl—” (ludicrous) “—  and you tag along, that’s you being a third wheel. Not if it’s just Jimmy.” 

“What girl?” Shatterstar, apparently, has fixated on that part. 

Rictor shrugs against the dirt. “I dunno. Any girl.” 

“Is there a girl in particular?”

“What? No,” Rictor huffs. “But there might be. In the future.” Fat fucking chance. Shatterstar accepts that answer with the same confidence with which he accepts everything Rictor tells him. It makes Julio’s skin feel hot, like he’s about to cry or throw up. Or both. Shit. “I mean. There…” He’s drunk and the moon is big and bright in the sky and Shatterstar is beside him and he’s had a supremely awful day. Can he just do this? Can he just, for once, not be complete and utter chickenshit and just  _ do _ this? “I don’t know. There probably won’t be a girl.”

“Why not?” 

Theoretically, Rictor could probably use his powers to create a sinkhole and allow the ground to open and swallow him up. “You know… you know how you feel like you don’t have the… emotional ability to fall in love?” Shatterstar nods. “I think maybe I’m the same way.” Shatterstar is quiet. With Julio’s buzz fading, he finds his anxiety creeping back in. “I tried… with Rahne, and with Tabs. I tried so damn hard. But I just… I don’t think I’m…  _ built _ like that.”

“You were born, not built.”

“It’s a figure of speech, ’Star.” Julio rolls onto his side so he can look at Shatterstar in the face, look at the stark black-and-white contrast of his skin and his star mark. He has the fleeting, terrifying urge to lean over and kiss him, and he crams it down as fast as he can. Instead of doing anything quite so mortifying, he says, “You're the only one I can talk to about how I feel.” 

That’s the truth, embarrassing as it is. Tabby is his best friend, and he used to be able to tell her anything, but that was before he  _ knew _ anything. That was before he actually admitted to himself that he had secrets even Tabby can’t know. 

With Shatterstar, it’s different. 

Shatterstar responds, “You're the only one I can talk to about… anything.”

And that’s the kind of statement that Rictor, being a good friend and a good confidante, should actually address. He  _ should _ remind Shatterstar that they’re two members of a larger team, and Shatterstar needs to be able to connect with people besides Rictor. One day, he will deal with that.

For now, he’s just privately thrilled. He is special. Out of everyone else, Rictor is special to Shatterstar. 

That fact very nearly makes up for the whole damn day. 

* * *

During a team trip to Phoenix, Rictor and Shatterstar find themselves in a position where they need to kill a few hours. Going to the movies is Rictor’s idea. Shatterstar’s got a thing about movies, so he’s thinking ’Star won’t complain. Except the thing is that there’s not much out. “I have already  _ seen _ ‘Enemy of the State,’” Shatterstar whines. “I would like to watch ‘You’ve Got Mail.’”

“Look,” Rictor sighs, “two guys can’t go see that movie.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s a date night movie,” Rictor huffs. “That’s the kinda movie you go to see with your girl.”

“But I don’t have a girl,” Shatterstar says. “I have you.” 

* * *

Ultimately, Rictor decides that arguing is pointless. He buys the tickets to ‘You’ve Got Mail.’

As soon as the lights in the theater go down, Ric finds himself uncomfortably aware of Shatterstar sitting beside him. It’s like the alien gladiator is radiating more heat than should be possible. He’s wishing he’d bought popcorn just for something to do with his hands, because right now both of their hands are just sitting on the arm rest, inches away from each other. 

Rictor barely manages to pay attention to the movie. The whole time, he’s consumed with the knowledge that Shatterstar is sitting right next to him in this dark movie theater watching this romantic-ass movie. They sit next to each other back at the base and watch TV all the time. Why is this so different? 

* * *

 

Later, in the car ride back to X-Force’s temporary base, they talk. “I liked that movie,” Shatterstar says. 

“It was okay,” Rictor says, toying with the dials on the radio. He can’t stop thinking about the prickly-hot-close feeling he had in the movie theater, and he’s trying desperately to get it out of his head. Especially with Shatterstar sitting beside him in this dark car. 

Ric manages to get ’Star chattering on about the cinematography and music choices in the film for the duration of the car ride. That’s distracting enough. They’re almost home free, except that by the time Rictor has pulled into the safehouse and parked, Shatterstar has fallen silent. 

“You okay?” Rictor says, wondering if he’s going to regret asking.  

“Just thinking,” Shatterstar says. His face is all screwed up in concentration, and it looks like he’s going to chew a hole through his bottom lip. 

“About what?” Shatterstar says nothing. “Dude, you know you can tell me anything. Absolutely anything at all.”  _ It’s me who can’t tell you the stuff I want to tell you _ . 

“There are things that… that you say only males and females share,” Shatterstar says, stumbling over stilted words as he struggles to speak. It’s obvious he’s put a lot of thought into what he’s saying, and and that despite all that preparation he’s still not quite sure of the right words. “And yet, more and more, I find myself… I find myself wanting to share these things with you. ‘Date night’ movies. Holding hands.” When he spots Ric’s panicked look, he crumples. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…” But Ric has to stop, because his hands are shaking and he really can’t fucking cause a scene right now, can’t have the whole rest of the team running out, can’t be shaking the ground apart, not in the middle of the night. Goddammit. He needs to be stable. “’Star… I think… look. I think you’re confused.”

“I am not—”

“Please just listen to me,” Rictor says. “A lot of the time, where you’re from and how you were raised… it doesn’t actually make so much of a difference. But this is one of the times it does. And that’s okay. I mean, the things that make you different are the things that make you  _ you _ . But… at the end of the day, you  _ are _ an alien. And the way that you understand relationships and sex, and… and how people feel about each other, it’s not totally something I can teach you. I think it’s not something you fully understand yet, and— ’Star?” 

He stops talking because Shatterstar is  _ shaking _ , even more than  _ he _ was. ’Star is actually goddamn trembling. It’s a strange sight. 

It’s also kind of heartbreakingly familiar. 

“I know it’s wrong, and I shouldn’t feel this way,” Shatterstar admits. “Julio… I think I’m broken.”

Rictor stares at him, eyes wide. Then he swears loudly and starts banging his hands on the steering wheel. “Goddamnit. Godfuckingdammit. I’m sorry.  _ Mierda _ , I’m sorry, ’Star.”

“Julio?”

“You’re not broken,” Ric promises him. “Or… or, Jesus, if you are then it’s my fault. I did everything wrong.” This whole time, he’s been thinking that he was the only fucked-up queer kid on the team. He’s been thinking that he had to teach Shatterstar how to be the perfect average straight man, because for some goddamn reason he thought that’s what ’Star was. “I… I was scared, and I thought I had to make you be scared too and I fucked everything up. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m confused.” 

“Forget everything I told you.”

“What?”

“Just—” Julio groans. “I’ve been a really bad friend.” 

“I admit that my sample size is small,” Shatterstar tells him, “but I disagree with that statement. Strongly.” The words sit in the stagnant air between them. The ad playing on the radio is so soft Rictor can’t make out the words; it buzzes in the background, gnat-like. 

“All the stuff I told you, about what’s normal and natural for men and women and what’s not,” Rictor says, tipping his head back against the seat, “it’s all bullshit. I mean, it’s true in the sense that it’s what a lot of narrow-minded morons think, but. Jesus. There’s nothing wrong with…  _ it _ .” He twists around in the seat so he can stare at Shatterstar dead-on, because this is important. If nothing else he’s ever taught Shatterstar about the world— about crosswalks and table manners and knock-knock jokes— has sunk in,  _ this _ needs to. “There is nothing wrong with you, no matter what… kind of people you fall in love with. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be, ’Star. You’re not broken, and you don’t have  _ anything _ to be ashamed of.”

Ric’s pretty sure he just told ’Star the thing he himself has been needing to hear for… forever. Funny how shit works out like that. 

Shatterstar watches him, his big doe eyes glinting in the dark car. “Does… does this mean that we can hold hands?”

Julio would laugh if ’Star didn’t sound so fucking tender. “Yeah, man,” he says, offering up his hand. Shatterstar takes it, grips it too tight at first and then slackens his hold, finds a comfortable common ground. His hand is calloused and warm, and holding it feels right. Like maybe he’s not such a fuckup after all, if somewhere along the line he made the decision that led to him sitting in a parked car in Phoenix, holding hands with a guy like Shatterstar. 

“One day,” Shatterstar says quietly, “I think I would like to kiss you.”

Julio smiles. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.” 


End file.
